


Diminutive

by GodOfGlitter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Nicknames, russia shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 08:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18426975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfGlitter/pseuds/GodOfGlitter
Summary: “Victor Aleksandrovich Nikiforov! You come here right now!”“Oh shit.”*Or: Yuuri and Victor and the decreasing order of Victor's name. Also fluff and smut and kissing and niceness.





	Diminutive

1.

“Victor Aleksandrovich Nikiforov! You come here _right now!”_

“Oh shit.”

There is silence in the apartment- the calm before what seems to be a very, very major storm. Victor looks at Makkachin guiltily- he knows _exactly_ what he did, but he was hoping that Yuuri would be too preoccupied with his program to notice. He’d even assigned him homework, as every good coach and not guilty husband should do. Huh. Guess his plan didn’t work out after all.

He’s still debating whether he should take Makkachin and make a run for it or actually go and apologize when Yuuri comes out of the kitchen, dirty spatula in hand and eyes that _scream_ murder. Somehow, it’s difficult for Victor to take his anger seriously when he just looks _so cute_ in his- Victor’s- striped shirt, which is practically falling off his lean shoulders. Plus, it’s extra-long, even on him, so Yuuri’s boxers are barely peeking out from under the shirt. Overall, his attire makes Yuuri look like an angry little puppy instead of a grown man, and Victor just can’t control himself- he laughs.

Oops.

“Oh no you didn’t,” says Yuuri, deadly serious. Slowly, he begins his advance towards Victor, who takes a step back involuntarily. “First you don’t wash the dishes when it’s _clearly_ your day- and let’s not forget I covered for you last time, too! And then, _and then,_ you fucking _laugh at me?_ You’re dead, Victor. Dead.”

Yuuri’s leap forward is sudden but not at all unexpected, yet it still takes Victor a second to dodge it. With more agility than he shows on the ice, Victor leaps over their sofa, making a dash for their bedroom- which he realises is a stupid idea when he’s already halfway there. Why did he think cornering himself in a closed room is a good escape plan?

He looks back to see where Yuuri is, and that’s what proves to be fatal for him- in that one look back, Yuuri catches up, wasting no time in smacking his arm with the spatula, making the marinara sauce they’d made for dinner fly everywhere- even into Victor’s hair. “ _Yuuri!”_ he cries out, because his arm hurts now and also because _his hair, his precious hair._

Mostly because his hair.

 While he’s busy trying to get rid of the sauce- _which has tomatoes in it, isn’t that basically guaranteeing mass hair death-_ Yuuri corners him against the wall, leaning against him in a way that would’ve led to some very, _very_ different activities under normal circumstances.

“That’ll teach you to do your chores. I’ve told you so many times, Vitya, you have to be more cooperative, you have to-“

And Victor can’t help it- maybe it’s the use of his nickname, which Yuuri has wrapped his tongue around quite recently, and which takes him from a zero to a sixty in one second flat; or it’s that fact that Yuuri has been walking around like a little striped puppy all night, and Victor has controlled himself for far too long- he can’t help it, so he kisses him.

The effect is instantaneous, and Victor wonders if he’ll ever get tired of this. Probably not.

In a second, all the anger leaches out of Yuuri, and the spatula falls from his lax fingers, making a thud that no one in the house but Makkachin seems to notice. Yuuri lets out a positively sinful sigh, before pushing his fingers through Victor’s hair and deepening the kiss. Victor _moans,_ low in his throat, and pushes up against the floor so he can wrap his legs around Yuuri-

-only to slip on the godforsaken spatula.

“Vic- Victor, are you okay?” Yuuri manages to ask between laughs, and the pout on Victor’s lips is only half real but who cares, Yuuri Katsuki is looking at him so Victor is in heaven.  “Come on, let’s get all this tomato gunk off of us.” he says, eyes shining so bright Victor wonders how he isn’t blinded already. He’s too wrapped up in Yuuri and all the overwhelming love he feels, so he doesn’t notice that he’d been hoisted up and is being led towards the shower until Yuuri asks him to take his clothes off.

 _That_ he notices _very_ quickly.

*

Later, in the shower, he apologizes properly, showering kisses all over Yuuri so that all he can taste is him, all he can _think_ about is him.

In return, Yuuri kisses the spot on his arm the spatula hit and rinses the sauce out of his hair with more care than he’s used to.

Victor thinks it’s apology enough.

2.

The flashes of a hundred photographers blind him, and he can feel his ‘Five-time world champion’ smile slip on like a hollow mask like it has all the times he’s stood here before. Except this time is different, because his chest is full to bursting with real, intransient happiness, making his defense mechanism unnecessary-

-and also because none of the flashes are directed at him.

“Katsuki- san, what, according to you, is the biggest reason you were able to win the Grand Prix Finals this year?” asks one reporter.

Beside him, Yuuri is panting slightly, looking dazed- like he can’t really believe the gold medal that hangs like a proud boa from his neck is _real._ He’s still in his costume, and the tiny crystals on it scatter the flashes of the cameras, making his face light up in hues of green and blue and gold. All in all, he looks _resplendent,_ untouchable, angelic- and Victor has a sudden _need_ to get him alone and have his way with him.

It distracts him, this need, so he misses the first part of Yuuri’s response. When he tunes back in, Yuuri is looking at him with the same awestruck expression he’s had on since he first heard his scores (record-breaking, not that Victor expected any less). “-and I really would be nowhere without my husband and coach, Victor Nikiforov.” He says, and Victor thinks he’s fainting because _oh, who knew being called someone’s husband could be so attractive?_

The reporters seem to be feeling what he’s feeling- only they’re more vocal about it. The moment Yuuri mentions him, they turn his way, directing a hundred questions about Yuuri’s training regimen, his diet schedule, his weak points- and their life together. He can feel Yuuri trembling next to him, and _that’s_ when it strikes home that the need he’s been suppressing all evening is consuming Yuuri completely, too.

“Ah, sorry, we can’t take any more questions.” He says, hoping that the reporters don’t notice the slight break in his voice or the raggedness of his breath. He redoubles the intensity of his ‘World Champion’ smile, before taking Yuuri’s hand and practically dragging him to the elevator that leads them to their room.

“It’s a miracle we didn’t fall,” says Yuuri, breaking out into a smile the moment the elevator doors close, effectively enclosing them in charged silence. “You were going so fast.” He adds, moving closer to Victor like he can’t quite help himself.

 _Oh, but I’ve already fallen_ thinks Victor, and then Yuuri’s lips touch his, and he doesn’t think at all.

3.

“Victor, my mother is calling you!” says Yuuri, and Victor should be embarrassed about how fast he drops the laundry basket to go greet her, but he isn’t. Hiroko-san is worth _the world._

“Konnichiwa, okaa-san!” he says, and the kind smile he gets in return makes him so homesick he has to look away for a second. “Ah, Victor, you’ve gotten so thin! Has our Yuuri not been feeding you properly?” she says, making Yuuri spurt out indignant exclamations.

Victor stays silent, taking in the picture of domesticity before him. For the hundredth time, he thanks whatever Being there is- God, the universe, whatever- for bringing him Yuuri, who taught him what love really was; Yuuri, who encouraged him to think of a life beyond skating; Yuuri, who gave him a mother, a _home._

Yuuri, who is now looking at him with thinly veiled concern. Hiroko- san is quiet too. “Are you okay?” he asks, and that question is layered with so many different things that Victor is hit with a fresh wave of love for him.

“Perfect.” He says, smiling his _real_ smile, as Yuuri calls it.

 _None of me has been fake since I’ve met you,_ he wants to say- but he contents himself with a peck and turns to face his mother-in-law.

(The smile doesn’t leave his lips all day.)

4.

“Vity- _ah,_ Ah, Vitya someone will hear us - _oh!”_

Yuuri is beautifully wrecked, and Victor can’t find it in him to care about people or being caught in a position this compromising. His black hair is slicked back with sweat, and the redness in his cheeks is seeping down to his exposed chest, making his puffy nipples stand out even more- like they’re begging to be touched.

And Victor is but a man, so he pushes Yuuri harder against the mirror of the Ballet studio- really, it’s a surprise no one has caught them yet- and moves so he can take one of Yuuri’s nipples into his mouth. The moan Yuuri lets out goes straight to his dick, and he’s _sure_ Yuuri can feel it twitch inside him acutely.

“Harder, harder-“pants Yuuri, and Victor complies, feeling his orgasm approach him at breakneck speeds. From the fog of arousal and tight, burning heat, Victor wonders how they ever manage to get work done- Yuuri in his ballet clothes is too sexy for Victor to function properly. No wonder Yuuri rarely invites him to watch- after all, their trips here mostly end up with Yuuri against a wall and Victor trying to hold on to his sanity and failing.

Victor flicks his tongue harshly against Yuuri’s nipple, changing his angle and driving in hard at the same time. Yuuri _keens_ in his lap, clenching violently around his dick in a way that makes Victor see stars.

“I’m so close, _ah, Yuuri,”_ he moans, moving his hips faster and faster as he tries to push Yuuri off the edge before he jumps, too. “The come for me, Vitya.” Says Yuuri, and _oh gods, he used the nickname-_

 _­_ -and Victor can’t help but _moan_ as his vision goes white.

*

Once Yuuri has come all over his chest and Victor’s and they’re absolutely spent, they slide down against the now foggy mirror. The studio is silent except for the sound of their harsh panting, and Victor thinks that he’ll be happy never moving from here again.

His reverie is interrupted by Yuuri’s breathy laugh, and Victor knows he’s in no position to go again, but damn if Yuuri Katsuki moving so tantalisingly against him isn’t enough to make him want to try. “I should bring you here more often.” Says Yuuri, sounding like he’s completely out of it- and doesn’t care.

Victor nuzzles Yuuri’s neck before biting it harshly, revelling in the shocked moan Yuuri lets out. “You little minx.” Is all he can say, because he’s weak for Yuuri and Yuuri knows this.

Yuuri laughs again, bright and beautiful, before winking at him coyly- like he never would’ve done a few years ago. “What can you do about it, Vitya?” he asks, challenging, a lilt to his voice and a false proudness in the slope of his chin.

Victor groans and buries his burning face in Yuuri’s neck, tasting defeat in every rumble of Yuuri’s laughter.

And Victor realises he’s never been happier to lose.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked that then  
> leave a kudos; don't forget  
> to comment. love, N


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